


twitter made me do it

by ursa



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Comedy, F/M, M/M, Matrix AU, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, Prompt Fill, Wedding Planner AU, bang bus au, cabin + feral, forest + snow, forest + sock, forest + starlight, garden + pet, kitchen + mess, mr. clean au, sad feels, that location + word writing prompt meme, will probs get updated every time i go for this meme
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:35:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28527819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ursa/pseuds/ursa
Summary: basically a collection of twitter prompt fills for the location + word meme
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Kudos: 2





	1. Forest + Starlight (wedding planner au)

**Author's Note:**

> witness my babbling as @ursasero in the burd app

**Forest + Starlight for @astrobucky**

**_Starlight_ ** _Express_ is playing low from the inside of the white canopy tents. Bucky wants to scoff at it but, well, not only did Pepper approve Tony’s 80s extravaganza playlist, so did he. Planning the renewal of vows of your ex-wife’s boss tends to get you acquiescing to most of their demands after all. 

Thanks a lot, Nat.

His fingers are itching for a smoke right then and there, the stress of the whole affair still tight under his ribs. The thing is, it wasn’t even memories of his own wedding that haunted him the entire time. Hell, Natasha was practically his right hand the entire time, their old synergies at play, putting out fires before they even begin to spark. 

No. It wasn’t Natasha and their long and troubled history. It was- 

“Never pegged you to be all maudlin over a wedding, Jim.”

Bucky exhales slowly, the autumn chill of the **forest** condensing his breath into visible wisps. 

“Not maudlin at all, sir. And please, it’s Bucky.”

Even in his short stint in the army, Bucky never got around to meeting one of its most notorious legends. But here, at the tail end of an event for one of the military’s long lost corporate allies, stands none other than their own rogue figurehead. Commander Rogers is over half a head taller than him, his posture and hair military precise yet with his blue eyes twinkling, Bucky knows just how lucky he was that he never formally met the man before. 

“Sorry. Bucky.”

The older man’s small smirk has yet to fade, low voice deep in the silence of their shared pocket of space. It makes Bucky feel small, makes Bucky remember feeling like prey. 

“You out here for a smoke then, son?”

Mutely, Bucky nods. He feels like an idiot just standing there, all planner professionalism gone. When he saw the guest list, he knew there was a chance he’d meet people he swore to never get in contact again. But small worlds tend to converge into themselves. Rogers isn’t a common name. Steve is though. 

“Guessing you need a light then, huh, _Buck_?”

He is still as a statue, eyes veered studiously away from the older man. “Uh- yeah, I think I left my- “

He feels it more than he sees it, Rogers now a scant inch away from him, behind him. “So you do remember me, huh?”

Bucky closes his eyes. Swears at Natasha. Swears at Stark. Silently whines at Pepper, why. He pinches the bridge of his nose. At an exhale he bites out, “Yes. Yes- fuck- Steve. Yes, I remember you.”


	2. Cabin + Feral (shrinkyclinks)

**Cabin + Feral for @foxybuckyl**

Bucky doesn’t say it but he absolutely loathes horror films. He’s faced enough horrors in his life, thanks, he doesn’t want spicier nightmares haunting him in his waking hours.

It’s why he’s tight-lipped and grimacing as he puts up with his date du jour’s handsiness under the guise of faux fear. The **Cabin** in the Woods is not half bad with its plot but the effect of its delivery is ruined every time a simper whimper comes from beside him, like the damn movie is actually scary. 

At the point where the feral unicorn stabs a man through, Bucky’s just about had enough. He shifts, lightly dislodging Mary (Ann? Mary-ann?) murmuring a gotta-go-pee before quickly loping towards the back-end of the theater. 

In all honesty, he really was just going to go pee. And take a break. Just a quick one. He didn’t mean to bump into Steve Rogers the movie usher in the dark much like he didn’t mean to get in his face after seeing the guy’s knuckles all torn up. Again. 

He didn’t mean to furiously whisper-ask Steve what the hell happened this time, tugging at him all the while Steve stubbornly and sarcastically reassuring him.

He swears he didn’t mean to leave Marjorie behind. 

They’re at the theater lobby now, near the escape exit and Steve’s looking at him, frustrated, arms folded and hands tucked under his pits. He grits out that Bucky’s being a grade A asshole right now, leaving his date and about to cost Steve his job. 

But Bucky would rather take this tense situation head on than go back inside faking his way into real life. He worries at his lips before muttering at Steve that he needs to be more careful. 

“I can handle myself fine Barnes.”

Steve’s still tense, surreptitiously glancing towards the theater doors. Bucky looms over him, left arm not quite caging cool Steve in.

The sound of latches are loud when it happens, the theater doors opening. Steve ducks under Bucky’s arm as he leaves, back straight and walking away from the strained silence Bucky is now alone in. 

Just as Steve’s slight frame disappears in the exiting crowd, Marian appears, smile tight at the corners. “Oh hey! You totally missed the ending - it was so good!”

Bucky huffs out a fake chuckle, mirroring Marilyn’s stiff grin. “Ah- guess you gotta let me know how it ends!”


	3. Kitchen + Mess (mr. clean au)

**Kitchen + Mess for @bride_ofquiet**

When Sam the ad man said Bucky’s work was a good fit for the vision they had for their next campaign it simultaneously flattered and worried Bucky. Half because Bucky’s never done advertorials and half because Bucky’s work consists mostly of, well, porn stills. 

So come the day of the shoot, he was grossly unaware of what may come his way. 

And by god did _this_ bulldoze every expectation he had. 

Bucky couldn’t quite believe the artfully constructed “ **mess** ” in front of him just as he could not believe the sheer mass of the man gleaming at him in the middle of it all. 

Yes- gleaming. 

The dude was practically soaked in baby oil, evident in the sheen of his chest and thighs, the near translucent white (WHY WHITE, Bucky despairs) briefs, barely covering the guy’s package. 

Bucky has both hands at a death grip around his camera as the assistants set up behind him. He can’t stop staring. 

A heavy hand lands on his shoulder, knocking him off his stupor. It’s Sam and he’s grinning at the guy, who is unfortunately still gleaming despite the glare marring his (holy shit, good face) all-american jock face. 

“You ready, Steve?!”

The guy (Steve, Steve, where has he heard of that name) grimaces and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, let’s get this over with. The faster we finish the faster I can knock that grin off your face Wilson!”

Sam just chortles and shakes Bucky. “You heard him Barnes, let’s get to it!”

A flurry of movement and a moment later and Bucky’s got his gear locked and ready. He takes one more glance at his model. A plethora of “dirtied” utensils and “grease-stained” pots surrounds him, his body shining as a centerpiece in the entire set. He’s on a side pose, a jug of proprietary **kitchen** cleaner strategically placed to cover his crotch, visible hand clasped tight around a dishwashing brush. 

And his face. Half-lidded eyes and a lazy smirk. 

Goddamnit. “Chop-chop, buddy.”

This is gonna be a long shoot. 


	4. Garden + Pet (matrix ish au)

**Garden + Pet for @sublimepigeon**

All over the  **garden** , the light shines. Steve walks unabashedly naked on pliant grass, toes sliding to touch the ground on each step. His young soul glows bright in him, Their wind light in its affection as it caresses his bare skin.

He walks on unknowing yet sensate, the environs an unending stimuli as he continues to move. At the crest of the mounting ground he is walking on, he stills. 

There are shadows in this part of the garden, the thick greenery obscuring what lies in their shade. Steve feels a compulsion in him, alien from Their calls. He feels it deep yet fleeting and it only serves as fuel to his low burning curiosity. 

He walks on. 

Down the slope, amid rising blades of grass, the looming trees are suddenly larger than ever. He feels a gust of wind this time, less a loving stroke and more a heavy handed warning. 

It does nothing but stoke the embers and he moves forward, hands first, parting a leaf, a vine, a wayward branch. He walks until the grass gives way to damp leaves strewn bellow, until the soles of his feet step on moist moss. The air is still here. Heavy. 

He feels winded all of a sudden, bark and wood and foliage seemingly caging him. The compulsion is strong but there is something more now. He looks down at himself, hands fisting at his sides. He closes his eyes and  _ thinks _ . 

Eyes snapping open, he looks up. Shouts, bellows- “WHERE AM I?!”

The greenery is silent. The shade unmoved. 

He can feel his arms straining but he’s not moving. 

A slight trickle on the nape of his neck gets him moving, his head snapping to his side. He’s seeing nothing but green, green, green. 

_ Steve, be calm. _

He’s standing naked in the middle of a clearing in a garden he doesn’t know where, when, how. In one moment and the next, he finds himself crouching, hands grasped tight to his chest, forehead to the ground, crushing the moss, smearing green all over. 

He breathes heavily and he feels it again, a  **pet** here, a stroke there, across his clavicle, all along his back, and down his sides. 

He’s being touched but he’s alone. When he screams he feels a gag (a hand) tighten in his face, his cheeks bulging, eyes red, temples throbbing. 

It’s in blurry eyes he comes to, the viridian shadows fading to concrete gray, straps on his chest tight, cuffs on his limbs even tighter. 

He feels a hand creep on his right shoulder. His head turns. Bucky smiles. 

“Welcome back, Steve.”


	5. Forest + Sock (bang bus au)

**Forest + Sock for @im_weapon**

In retrospect, if a dilapidated white caravan with peeling decals stops in the middle of a  **forest** backroad off the I-80 at high noon somewhere between Reno and Trucker, where coincidentally you’ve been desperately raising your thumb for over three hours, gratefully and unquestioningly accepting the driver’s and passenger’s good graces to ride with them should have come with a little more wariness. 

Especially if said decals read something like something you’ve read in passing in a video you were supposed to not have access to, at the dead of night, in your foster dad’s unsupervised borrowed laptop. 

Then again, Steve’s been a pretty wild risktaker all his life and a little stranger danger is no big deal. That’s until they reach the town’s lone RV park and the doors open again to let in this petite redheaded woman in a white tank, booty shorts, and thigh high gym  **socks** , followed by a long-haired and scruffy man in a blue henley, dark jeans and overwhelmingly built like a brick shithouse. 

They’re murmuring at each other until the guy nods and he’s sitting at the far end of the caravan. 

Just as suddenly the original passenger (also built, black shirt, smells like tobacco and something metallic, with an off putting face) sidles up to Steve in the front. “Hey man, y’said you’re on your way to Sacramento? Yeah, see, we’re a bit short on folks for this project, how’s about you give us a hand?”

He’s grinning at Steve, a little creepy, but Steve knows he’s riding only out of the goodness (well not anymore apparently) of their hearts.

“There’s some extra too if you’re willing—“

Steve glances at the silent driver beside him and then, slowly, behind him. The girl’s now plastered all along the guy’s side, her chest pressed tight against the guy’s left pec. He can feel the Creepy Passenger’s gaze on him, like he knows he already got Steve’s yes. 

He swivels his eyes back on Creepy. “How much are we talking about here?”

He misses Creepy’s smirk as the scene at the back catches his eye. The girl’s deft hands have found themselves behind the big guy’s head, blindfolding him, all the while rubbing her right thigh against the straining bulge in the man’s pants. 

“Hundred bucks, you go down on him. Any further, we tack on a fifty. You game, kid?”


	6. Forest + Snow (the lighthouse stucky fic au)

**Forest + Snow for @doobawrites**

When all is said and done, it’s the stillness of everything that really gets to the both of them. It took them a hell of a long time to find this pocket of peace in this wilderness, somewhere between two timelines, an agreed upon alignment of clocks in their own paces, and yet it’s the quiet that disturbs it. 

Steve got to the  **forest** clearing first, an hour earlier than their agreed upon time. The winds were howling out and even his steadfastness was tested, worrying the slowly unraveling thread from Bucky’s old sweatshirt, a borrowed and thinning thing, barely straining now in Steve’s new (old) body. 

It’s a side effect he’s willing to exist with, especially knowing it’s a small price to pay for what he gets in return. 

By the time Bucky arrives (heavily cloaked, bedraggled, scruffy,  _ alive _ ), he’s shivering, the expanse of their meeting place unable to gather enough warmth from the tiny heat machine Steve was able to bring with him. 

Bucky sighs at him but his eyes are kind. Shrugging off the heavy wool coat,  **snow** drifts and melts and puddles at the entrance. Bucky is unconcerned as he continues to strip down to the pajamas he seemed to have hastily put on to make the journey. 

These moments are always based on luck. And as much as Steve wants to bend the rules of their meetings to have a little more time and as much as Bucky prayed to have a few more chances, there’s only much their tired mortal souls can do. 

Steve grabs Bucky by his shirt as soon as he comes within reach, cold fingers desperate. Soon enough they embrace, tight, unwilling to lose more time apart. 

He shivers in Bucky’s arm and he curls his body in, allowing a roving hand pass again and again and again on his goosepimpled back. 

Bucky’s soft voice brushes against his temple, body warming slowly.  _ It was nightmares for me, Steve _ , he says,  _ it was my arm _ , he gusts out,  _ it was my head _ , he chokes. 

Two warm blood arms hold pieces of him together as he listens to Bucky mournfully recount his journey, voice scratchy at places, trying hard to sound alright. 

Steve’s grip around Bucky tightens when the man quiets. 

_ It was the cold for me, Buck. _

The winds have ceased their moaning outside, the stillness once again occupying their space. They have one last moment and like the snow Bucky tracked inside, they drift, they melt, two unseeming puddles in a long forgotten glade. 


End file.
